


pretend you don't see her, my heart

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Getting Back Together, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Mentions of alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, mentioned b/a, mentions of past cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty's big, see-all doe eyes flash with what he thinks might be excitement or apprehension. More likely headlights bouncing around the diner. Her pink lips curl in a smile and the charred-over hunk of meat in his chest shudders.Pretend you don’t see her, my heart...
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	pretend you don't see her, my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smudge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smudge/gifts), [jjonesin4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjonesin4/gifts).



> I am mostly free of the eight thousand things that were driving me to madness! MOSTLY! WHEEEE! So now you get a taste of something I hammered out in a stream of consciousness pine-fest while listening to old croony music like "Pretend you don't see her" by Jerry Vale. This is dedicated to my homegirls Smudge (@thetaoofbetty) and Jjonesin4 (@jjonesin4) who write amazing songfics and are just generally wonderful supportive people. Thanks especially to Smudge for the confidence boost on this piece.

_~~~_

_Look somewhere above her_

_Pretend you don't love her_

_Pretend you don't see her at all_

~~~

Jughead adjusts his bag in the hopes the pain in his chest eases or at least shifts, but he’s nostalgia’s semi-willing bitch. Veronica sits up a little and squints into a closed-lipped smile to greet him whereas Betty turns to look over her shoulder at him like she did years ago when their foursome friendship began. Her big, see-all doe eyes flash with what he thinks might be excitement or apprehension. More likely headlights bouncing around the diner. Her pink lips curl in a smile and the charred-over hunk of meat in his chest shudders.

_Pretend you don’t see her, my heart..._

Jughead drops into the seat next to Betty. It’s easier to avoid looking at her that way. He crosses his arms and lets the girls squirm under his lack of response to their greetings. Betty and Veronica make chit-chat around him.

Betty’s an FBI trainee on leave? Why? And with that long hair so easy to wind around a hand and yank--

_Pretend you don’t hear her..._

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, cracking his neck.

There are a dozen diner conversations he could focus on instead, but every fiber of his being vibrates with the urge to uncover the mystery of what happened to his friends, why they never showed up so many years ago. He doesn’t even want to risk reaching across the counter for a menu for fear of accidentally brushing his arm against her shoulder and bursting into flames.

God, he hates this.

(“ _Until it sticks,”_ Jughead told Betty once, knowing it wouldn’t. Not for him. Never in a million years did he think she’d be the one to cut contact.)

But Jughead supposes beggars can’t be choosers, especially when someone offers a potential job when you’re fleeing debtor’s prison. If they knew the extent of his troubles, Veronica would probably wonder if she’s supposed to offer any of her millions or offer him a spot at some Lodge-sponsored rehab, which almost makes him laugh, but Betty might pity him. In his mind’s eye, Betty touches his knee or perhaps the back of his neck, pulling him in for a hug, and he’d feel whole again.

 _Pretend you don’t need her_...

He manages to stonewall everyone pretty well until Toni and Archie arrive, and Betty and Veronica turn to the boy-next-door like sunflowers to the sun on a bright day. Their favorite.

_Of course he is._

Jughead scoffs in his seat. At least Archie did care enough about Riverdale to put aside their rocky past and call. That takes guts.

Wait, why is Toni glaring at him? And Betty keeps looking away any time he so much as slightly turns in her direction.

He slinks further down in his seat.

It’s not like he broke either of their hearts.

Unless… Betty...

Archie claps and stands up. “Great! Let’s go for a walk and catch up!”

Toni pats her engorged, pregnant belly. “Not me. I’ve had enough walking for one day. I’m going to eat as much as I can and go to bed.”

That means they’ll be in pairs. Jughead could bolt and take the exit here. But where would he go?

He slinks out of the booth and lingers, waiting for Betty to pass, the smell of her shampoo better than any drug.

_Pretend you don’t smell her?_

He sticks his hands in his pockets and trudges by her side, keeping her in the peripheral without really looking. “So, why didn’t you call?” He’s not supposed to talk to her.

Her grip tightens on the to-go coffee cup. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Why?” The inflection sounds more like a plea than a question and he hates himself a little for it.

“After your voicemail…”

 _What voicemail?_ He frowns at the cracks in the road and the sidewalk.

Betty arches an eyebrow at him the same way she used to regard Chic when he was being purposely obtuse about his milk-drinking and murder habits. “The night of your book launch? After that, I figured you never wanted me in your life again.”

“I…” He swallows a tangled wad of sandpaper in his throat. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression. That wasn’t my intention.”

Betty squares her shoulders with a little wiggle as if she’s shaking it off. Burying it deep like her Cooper genes taught her. He’s taken aback by how hard he has to clench his fists in his pockets so he doesn’t smooth her perfect cheek. 

No, not _perfect._ _Good_. Used to be good, at least.

Betty slows, taking a deep breath, and with a soft, _polite_ , but sincere smile meets his eyes for one heart-stopping moment and says, “It is good to see you again, Jughead.”

The kind sentiment might as well be a javelin through the part of him pretending that their breakup was inevitable. His brain is in overdrive writing Exes to Lovers friendfiction (like his book), or perhaps dramatic literary fiction about estranged high school sweethearts.

But then she turns away, eyes downcast, and the buzz of inspiration fades to a hollow ache.

 _I don’t want her anymore,_ he pretends and wishes he had enough money for another milkshake.

~~~

It’s easy enough to get engrossed in lesson plans or finding the next class whenever Jughead spots one of his former friends. He learns everyone’s schedules if only so he can avoid them, even in the break room. He eats at his desk. If his students weren’t so up his ass about being pathetic, he’d probably be sleeping there, too. But he must be caffeinated. And the coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge is free supply.

He’s almost tempted to talk to Betty, there, but he chickens out and ducks into the bathroom for five minutes before deeming it safe. But of course it isn’t. Betty makes eye contact and offers him a half-smile and a wave. He can’t run back into the bathroom without looking like he has stomach problems, so he freezes, then ducks his head and power-walks by her with little more than a head nod.

_Pretend you don't see her my heart_

_Although she is coming our way_

Her smiles stop after that. As do any attempts at communication.

He almost feels guilty. Almost. Which is wild.

He daydreams about ranting to her about their awful students and the perils of teaching, but then he remembers they’re not talking, and he pinches his brow because it wasn’t this hard not talking to her when they were separated by states. Obviously. Now that she’s here, he wants to _not_ talk to her, but still be by her. A silent, glowering punishment for him and for her. Like when they first broke up and he sat there handing her tools, not looking at her and just… waiting for the opportunity to be properly mad, to have an outlet for his neverending passion (even if it was on the accelerator pedal instead of a makeup kiss until later that night). But that was the day after Archie and the serial-killer ignited their first breakup. Blowing up on her seven years after parting ways seems childish.

That doesn’t mean he stops sulking, though. But this time, she doesn’t gently ask him what’s wrong or offer any explanation beyond whatever was in the mystery voicemail scared her off talking to him forever. He _said_ it wasn’t his intention to keep her away. He asked her why she never called. Isn’t that obvious enough? _Talk to me. I want you to talk to me._

But she hasn’t. And he’s too scared to risk his battered heart any more than he has, so he throws himself into the bottom of a bottle and the new mystery in town: Mothmen. Mothman? Something like that.

Jughead has to interview someone during lunch and passes through the garage in the hopes to get back to class before he’s late--ducking behind the cars so no one looks at him, most of them too focused on Betty to spare him more than a glance. Not that he can blame them.

Betty’s long ponytail sways like a pendulum every time she bends over the car. He’s not strong enough not to look at her ass. Overalls do something to him. Although he also loved her mini skirts, her sundresses, pajamas, _his_ clothes, nothing at all...

 _God, at least **pretend** you’re not a caveman, _he chides himself, awkwardly positioning by the hall door to look through his notes and eavesdrop. She’s always been so smart. And she keeps these kids in line while still earnestly guiding them through each step. Part of him wants to ask for tips.

After a leaked sex tape, a cheating scandal, Sisters of Quiet Mercy, organ harvesting, and a serial killer father (and brother), she still managed to keep it together.

Well, kind of.

The flutter of papers in the hall catches Jughead’s attention. Archie skids to a halt and bends over to pick up a bunch of flyers for the football team. He’s probably going to ask Betty to help him plan something peppy. That’s _Veronica_ ’s expertise. Or Cheryl’s.

Jughead hopes Betty says no.

Betty glances over, tightening her ponytail, and Jughead ducks out of the way, his pulse blaring like a tornado drill alarm, and he bolts down the hall as if his presence is a coincidence.

_Pretend you don’t see me..._

Archie touches Betty’s lower back in the break room when he doesn’t think anyone else is looking and asks her something--from the doorway, Jughead reads it as, “Tonight?”

Jughead swallows bile and nearly slams into a bunch of students during his hasty retreat.

The chasm in his chest doesn’t roar so much as shut down in shuddering static briefly interrupted by conspiracy theories about Mothmen. He _knew_ Betty and Archie were inevitable. He knew it. He just thought maybe… maybe it was over.

But no, that’s “bughead.” He wrote his ode to it. A happily ever after. And that’s all they get.

Tabitha insists on dragging Jughead to the speakeasy downstairs so she doesn’t feel awkward in her own place when Veronica hosts a reunion event. Jughead stays at the bar, sucking down alcohol, but not as much as he wants, because he has to work and grade papers later. But his mind wanders, and he finds himself staring at the side of Betty’s face, noting every time Archie turns to grin at her, or when she shares a knowing smile back at him. What millions of secrets do they hold for each other? What tiny little smiles? This is the holiday gift exchange during breakup #2 all over again, but this time Jughead doesn’t have anything to offer Betty, and he doubts she has something saved away for him.

Gnawing on the cocktail straw, Jughead starts when Tabitha turns to smile at _him_. “Isn’t this great?”

He returns it with his personal flair for sarcasm. “Best show in Riverdale.”

She elbows him with a laugh and turns back to Veronica and... (what’s his name? Mr. Veronica?) engaging in cheesy dance moves as they serenade one another.

Karaoke or performance of any kind seems like a death sentence. He had to drink at least three whiskeys before any of his live readings on the book tour. The words would blur, but he knew them anyway. “So romantic,” people would croon. And he thought so too. But she never reached out to him after what was essentially a love letter to all they’d been. Maybe not _all_. There’s no way he could capture that complexity yet, but...

Jughead’s gaze slinks across her form-fitting sweater and he’s lost in a daze for a few minutes, remembering how she stood beside him at his father’s birthday party, swearing to help him put his family back together. As soon as Betty heads towards the bar, Jughead inhales sharply and nudges Tabitha for a distraction, telling her all about the time Veronica put on a shirtless car wash fundraiser in Pop’s’ parking lot. Tabitha loves it and Betty… well, Jughead can’t see Betty. He’s very busy _not_ seeing Betty. But he hears her soft, velvet voice order a mocktail, the clink of ice, and the retreating sound of footsteps. When it’s safe to look, he glances over, noting the way her head is tilted slightly down, like she’s not watching the show at all. But Kevin taps her arm and she’s bright and this new version of Betty again--the one Jughead finds impossible to read.

He pretends not to notice when she glances at him on her way out, nor the way she looks away even faster. Archie and her drive off together. That makes sense. They live next door to one another.

 _They’re probably fucking_ , his inner critic notes wryly, and Jughead orders another drink. Ice rattles against his teeth and Jughead gets back to work -- his book, the diner, drinking, teaching, grading. It’s a cycle. It keeps him busy.

~~~

_Pretend you don't see her my heart_

_Although she is coming our way_

_Pretend you don't need her my heart_

_But smile and pretend to be gay_

_~~~_

The Mothmen project is consuming his life, and since he doesn’t have anywhere else to put his stuff, he finally takes a deep breath, thinking the school _must_ have changed the Blue and Gold office in the past seven years. But he walks in and it’s like he’s sixteen and alone in love again. Dust coats the table, no bright-eyed pleading girl waiting for him. Her old notes are still pinned to the board. No one must’ve taken up her mantle when she left.

“Not dead, _dying_ , Jug,” she’d told him about the newspaper industry, clasping her hands and waxing poetic about justice, ponytail swaying excitedly until his insides were twisted in knots and he agreed, starting them on their first joined investigation.

He tries not to think about it.

Unfortunately, _not_ thinking about it means he accidentally grabs her favorite kinds of tea packets from the main kitchen on instinct and starts a hude, weird, hoarder-esque stash of things she’ll never use. He’s too embarrassed to throw them out or bring them back, so he pinches the bridge of his nose, drinks a few cups for old time’s sake, and pins his information to the board, deciding to spend his lunches surrounded by his own madness and that of Mothmen.

Two weeks later, the door creaks open and he grabs a stapler in lieu of any real weapon, flinging it open to shoot a tiny metal rod four feet across the room.

Betty freezes halfway through the door, a folder full to bursting tucked against her chest. “Oh, I… I didn’t realize this room was taken. My mistake.”

“N…” It’s all Jughead can get out before she starts to retreat. But then, maddeningly, she pauses and smiles. He relaxes his stance. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just--” She chews her lip before offering him an apologetic smile. “A stapler, Jug? You used to wield a switchblade.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He chuckles and snaps it back into place before scooting onto the table behind him, jerking his head at her papers. “What have you got there?”

She holds them tighter. “Oh, nothing, I was working on this at the old FBI office but I…” She takes a deep breath. “I was looking for some new perspective.”

So she wanted to come back, too. Jughead nods. “Bring it in.”

“No, I couldn’t--”

“Top secret FBI stuff?” He wags his eyebrows and crosses his arms, not sure where this embarrassing attempt at levity is coming from. Maybe from pretending he doesn’t want to lick his customers' plates or pass out under a table at work. “I won’t look. You can put it on the far wall. Or I can take mine down.”

“Are you investigating TB--well, what are you doing? If it’s okay that I’m asking,” Betty adds hurriedly, propping the door open with her heel.

He gestures to the wall. “On the trail of yet another mystery of Riverdale. For a book.”

She peers over, then walks back and forth, studying the board and clippings as his heart rate quickens and the door closes quietly behind her. “These are all local disappearances?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

“Is yours?” he pries, running his fingers across the table before hooking them around its edge.

“They’re all in the US.” Her passive glance betrays the churning gears in her head. “But the latest was closer to home than expected.”

 _They could be connected_.

He takes a deep breath and laughs, relishing the faint whiff of motor oil. “No rest for the wicked, I guess. Not in a wicked little town.”

Betty flinches and looks down. “I guess… I should go.”

Jughead stands and brushes his palms on his pants, panicked that he’s doing what he always does and hurting her worse than he means to--even if she did destroy him (and _them_ ) back then. “No, you should--” _Stay_ lingers in the back of his mind and he searches the room and his brain for any other suggestion besides, “ _be with me_ ,” any other memory besides their first time, reunited, desperately, lovingly, passionately coming together when they became a “we” again and saved the day. “Get that perspective you were looking for. Even if it’s not with me. Right, Bett...s?”

A sheen covers her eyes for a moment and she nods, gaze downturned. “Okay, Jug. That’d be--that’d be nice, I think.”

They silently rearrange their old articles, carefully pressing the pages into binders with notes, and pin up the new ones. He looks at his board, she looks at hers, both of them leaning on separate sides of the table, and the room vibrates with some quiet, impossible energy that blurs the board beyond her and brings her face and the conflict into razor-sharp clarity.

 _Pretend_ , he urges his heart.

At the end of the period, she leaves her wall clippings pinned to the board, which is just as well, because if she took them down, he’s pretty sure he’d feel each prick in his very soul.

 _They can do this_.

She pushes a piece of hair behind her ears and holds the door open for him, but he reaches above her to take over, even as she blinks up at him, practically holding her breath. “Um, do you think--do you want to interview the guy off Route 41 with me? Otherwise, I can report ba--”

“Yeah.” His tongue feels numb, slow, so he runs it across his lips, trying not to fall into a pile of bones when Betty’s gaze drops to his mouth and he has to push his to the ceiling. “That’d be great.”

_~~~_

_It's too late for running my heart_

_Chin up if the tears start to fall_

_Look somewhere above her_

_Pretend you don't love her_

_Pretend you don't see her at all_

_~~~_

Things are better and worse than he ever could’ve imagined. The interviews go great. Even if they’re still guarded, they work _well_ together, they always have, each piece of the puzzle getting closer.

But there’s another girl who goes missing and Betty shuts down. They fight about tailing Hiram--how dangerous it is, how likely it is for him to have anything to do with Mothmen or the missing girls, other things they should try when they haven’t been up for five days straight (and he knows she isn’t sleeping, he can tell). Jughead’s so _tired_ from working two jobs and this case that he lashes out, she lashes out, it’s a whole fucking mess that ends up in her running off on her own and him sneaking whiskey during his ten-minute breaks.

She smells like Archie’s shampoo when she comes by his Pop’s shift later to apologize and tell him what she found when risking her life, her eyes red-rimmed. His soul drops out of his body. He can’t look at her. Archie and Betty and all of their hero complexes make him sick. Literally sick. He drinks himself into a stupor and comes to with an ice pack on his aching, burning face and Tabitha tapping her foot at him with a stern, chiding, “We’re having an intervention.”

“No,” he mumbles, rolling over. “I’m a writer. This is--”

“A predisposition, according to Pop and your girlfriend.”

He snorts and covers his face with one arm. “Ex-girlfriend.”

“Whatever she is, it’s got you twisted up, and you need to deal with it. Especially because we have Homecoming tonight and I am not dealing with a bunch of hungry teens by myself.”

Groaning, he sits up. “I’m supposed to chaperone.”

Tabitha’s eyes widen and he can imagine all the ways she’d like to chop him up and feed him to hungry patrons.

“I’ll--I’ll get out early. I’ll get out of it.” He always does leave these things early.

So he goes, tie unslung, flask in his pocket, a walking stereotype of the washed-up author, the failed conspiracy theorist, and he blinks at the happy, nervous faces in the crowd, remembering when he once put on a suit to make Betty smile. How she wore that lavender dress to their first dance, how he was so _happy_ to give up the rest of his family just for the chance at another dance with her.

 _Fuck_ that hopeless romanticism. It’s never brought him anything but misery. That’s why he hasn’t loved anyone since.

Of course, he hasn’t really fallen _out_ of love with Betty, which is especially evident when she parts the sea of ignorant teens wearing a gray dress that makes his heart splice open. It’s _gray_ like the color of his beanie he buried in this stupid place--the one she knit for him after having to cover up his murder just to make him feel better. And he buried it.

 _Don’t look,_ he reminds himself, squinting at the fairy lights above her. He mostly manages to keep people from spiking the punch and downs as much of it as he can himself, eating away, even though he grazes at Pop’s on a regular basis. The waist of his pants is getting too tight and his gut churns when the deejay announces “Ladies’ Choice.” Rolling his eyes, he takes a swig from his flask, cheeks heating when he catches Betty open-mouthed studying him before she looks away with a frown. _Like she cares_.

Surprisingly, though, she doesn’t take Archie, who does sort of hopefully turn her way. She marches over to Kevin and tilts her head, half-curtseying when she asks, “May I have this dance?” and he’s all too happy to oblige her. Archie, for his part, smiles in his affable way and sidesteps towards Veronica, whom he’d been chatting with earlier.

“Archiekins?” Veronica slips a bare left hand through his arm. “Would you like to dance?”

“I’d like that, yeah,” he says and smiles at her. They dance, chat, and maybe Archie looks around a little, but not _longingly_. Affable.

Jughead wishes he and Betty had something like that. He just wishes he had Betty. Or _anything_ that made him feel good again.

Blinking back the hot threat of tears, he wipes his mouth and marches out of the gym. None of them need him anyways. His duty is done. No serial killers here tonight, for once.

The creak of the door behind him almost sends him over the edge. _Mothmen?_

Betty stumbles, then straightens, looking at him. They’re sixteen again. Both of them near tears.

“Hey, you should stay,” she murmurs, twisting her lip between her teeth.

“I can’t. I have work. And you have Archie, so--”

“We’re just friends.” She fluffs out her skirt, the sequins catching the light, and a ball tightens in Jughead’s throat at one of the many images he carried of her in wedding dresses crossing an aisle to him. Not a hallway. Not _here_. “Friends with benefits for a while when we all first came back, yes, but--he’s not--he’s never been--” She shrugs, dropping her skirt and sliding her gaze sideways. “It was a distraction.”

“Is that what this missing person's case is to you? A distraction? A death sentence?” He shakes his head and wipes his chapped lips. “I can’t keep pretending this isn’t torture. Working with you, pretending we’re…” _Not in love?_

“I’m sorry, Jughead.” Tears stream down Betty’s face in glittering magnificence. “I tried to give you space after--well, I never should’ve asked you to join the investigation. I’ll leave you alone again.” She ducks her head and sucks in a breath, and he can’t bear the thought of her walking away from him as she turns on her heel, the vision of him as a teenager running away from the dance, of Betty hugging him and turning away to go on a road trip with Alice playing on a loop in his head.

“I can’t lose you again!” Jughead cries, his voice breaking, and he slams the side of his fist into a paper-decoration on some kid’s locker. Betty flinches and stares, even as he lowers his voice, shaking from the effort. “I can’t lose you again, Betts. Not to him. Not to anyone.”

“Do you mean Archie? Or TBK?”

He lets out a wet laugh and rolls his eyes. “A serial killer or my ex-best friend. Oh, how many traumas can Riverdale bestow upon us? It doesn’t even matter.” He presses his palms into his eye sockets and rotates his wrists, hoping it stops the leaking the same way he saw Betty modify an oil-spewing engine the other day when loitering past the garage with a non-urgent update on their investigations. “My life doesn’t feel right without you in it. I tried buying shit. I tried traveling, distracting myself with relationships, drinking, investigations. I couldn’t write again. I couldn’t love again.” He sighs, dropping his shoulders, pleading with her, exhausted. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I don’t know what to do, how to get _us_ back, how to be happy again.”

“I can’t make you happy, Jughead,” she whispers, voice graveled, gaze somewhere near his kneecaps. “I ruined it.”

“No, you didn’t. A series of unfortunate events and _maybe_ a bad choice did. We could’ve both handled it better. I don’t even know what I said in that voicemail.”

She chuckles through a sob and covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. That _destroyed_ me, and you don’t even remember what you said?”

“Nope. I was drunk.” He laughs too, hysterical, pushing his thumbs into his pockets. “I’m also in debt, and probably not too far behind my dad’s old lifestyle, in case your detective skills hadn’t caught that. Bad choices, unfortunate events.” 

She swallows, gaze sharpening and pupils dilating as she looks at _him_ and shrugs one shoulder. “Do you want to dance?”

Relief washes over him and he remembers the way they danced together in his childhood trailer, promising simple, easy times amidst the chaos they kept being handed, and he says, "Only for you, Betty Cooper."

Because no matter what they’re tackling, no matter how awful he’s feeling, he’d rather they face it together.

They stroll onto the floor kind of awkwardly, sharing the ghosts of smiles and sidelong glances until facing one another. He wants to take a swig of his flask to steady his nerves but Betty wraps her arms around her shoulders and he just feels _grounded_ again. His hands settle on her waist and they shuffle under twinkling lights, the rest of the world melting away into white noise like it always does when he’s with her. It’s hard to look at one another, but every time they do, it’s like a magnet pulling their hips closer together, until finally, they’re chest to chest, gazing at each other, “six-inches-for-the-holy-spirit” chaperone jokes aside, he feels like there’s a galaxy within each of them instead of the black hole burning away inside his chest.

He looks at her lips for permission, and the second he has the nod, he goes for the kiss. His brain goes silent as they embrace, his heart cheering and radiating too loud for any pretense.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm still working on Repo so don't worry I'm still a heathen sometimes even if this closed on a kiss. I'll be working on replying to comments as I get energy bursts as I have only just started becoming human post-thesis work. How are you? Any scenes poke your brain or heart in a good way? I tried to make it clear Betty was playing the same sort of game as Jughead but since it's from his POV well... you know how it is. Have a wonderful day!


End file.
